The Quest For Skinny Pants

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I know. It went against every piece of advice I’ve ever gotten about weight loss. But her goal was to keep me mindful of my choices. I’ve done it with varying levels of commitment for several years now and noticed that when I step on the scale in the morning, my weight stays on my mind all day and informs my choices.

But 15 days into this Whole 30 and I am still struggling. The fatigue is overpowering. By the time dinner rolls around, I barely have energy to eat. And good lord, I want a drink. And a bowl of really good macaroni and cheese. And a cadbury egg. And a …

Last time was so much easier. The rapid weight loss kept me going. (Yes, I was weighing myself every day – you’re really not supposed to do that. Please don’t tell Dallas and Melissa!) When I wanted to give up, I’d think about the 5, 10, 15, 20, 25 pounds I’d lost and plow through. That’s not happening this go ’round. And so the siren call of carbs is loud in my mind. And tummy.

So I’m taking a radical step. I’m pledging to stay off the scale for the rest of this Whole 30. I’ve lost 7 pounds so far and am hopeful the next three-four will come off by April 11th. The slowed loss is discouraging and I don’t need that negativity. I’ll tackle the next two weeks with determination and a desire to feel better, if not lighter. Instead of the scale, I’ll be attempting meditation to achieve mindfulness.

I didn’t forget I have a blog. I swear. And no, I haven’t finished my novel. In fact, I recently had a authorial crisis and went back to square one.

I know. I suck.

During December, I loosened the reins a little. It was effort to keep me from feeling deprived, because let’s face it. When I feel deprived, I snap and binge on ALL. THE. FOODZ. It worked for December. I didn’t lose my damn mind and only ate little bits of dairy, sugar and grains.

And the January hit and I swear, I meant to start a Whole 30 on 1/1/15, but there was a compelling reason that I no longer remember for postponing it. I only gained a few pounds – not too bad. I mean, it is, errr, was the holidays. Midway through January, I decided to reboot via Whole 30. That lasted a whopping 7 days, people. WOW.

After Valentine’s Day, I tried again and this time lasted 3 days. By this point I’d have to try to Whole 30 at least 9 more times, just to get a full 30 days in. So I gave up. Not entirely. I still ate a Paleo diet 3-4 days a week. The other half of the time, I was like an episode of that Guy Fieri show. (Don’t lie, you know you watch that dirty food porn.)

Now, midway through March, I’m looking at the scale going WTF, Jen??? I hit my 50 pound mark. But it took me way too long to do it. So I’m recommitting. I’m not waiting, postponing or writing myself a note. WHOLE 30, bitches. With a pan of raisin bars in my kitchen and a mom’s dinner out planned at a killer local Mexican place. I’ll be ordering a salad and bringing my own balsamic vinaigrette. Because that’s how I roll right now. NO WAY IN HELL I’m losing 50 pounds just to slide down the mountain again. I gave away my bigger jeans. There are no fall back fat pants.

I have to keep pushing forward and that’s not really my strong suit. But I’m tired. I feel like shit. It’s time to get my spring on and shed another 50 pounds. I’m looking forward to buying pants in a size that starts with a 1.

I recently had a bit of a weight loss crisis. I hit the 35 pounds lost mark and despair settled in hard.

Because when you have a LOT of weight to lose, 35 pounds feels like a drop in the bucket. I think it’s the Biggest Loser phenomenon. We get used to seeing accelerated weight loss and the regular pace seems sllllloooooowwwww.

But it’s not. And 35 fucking pounds is NOT a drop in the bucket. Its huge. I just needed a perspective change.

And yes, I have a long way to go yet, but now it’s less than 100 pounds to lose. Which is epic. I’m a quarter of the way there. Also, I’ve lost 2 pant sizes. I’m wearing the smallest pair of jeans I currently own. Another 10-15 pounds and I’m going to need to buy pants in a size that does no start with a 2.

Throw your ingredients in a gallon size Ziploc bag. Give it a bunch of squishes to mix everything up. Add your chicken. (I used four thighs and 8 legs. Pork would be good in this too. So would salmon. And beef.) Toss it around a little to get everything coated.

Shit. Close the bag first, ya dummy. Mop, repeat the above and close the bag. Proceed.

Marinate your meat (heh) for at least 4 hours. I gave it about 6, turning it every 2 hours or so.

Heat your oven to 350. Take a Pyrex baking dish (9×13 or 10×15) and throw a stick of butter in there (unwrapped, for the special crowd.) Put the baking dish in the oven until the butter is melted. Take the dish out, arrange the meat in a single layer and return to the oven. Bake for about a 1/2 hour for bone-in chicken, turning the pieces at the 15 minute mark. If you’re using something besides bone-in chicken, I have no cooking time for you. Sorry. Stick it in there, pay attention, turn it once and take it out when it’s done. Bone in meat takes longer to cook than boneless. Godspeed.

We had this with brown rice and steamed green beans. It was YUM. I wish I had pictures of this, but my family scarfed it down like savages. Plus my pictures always suck, so it’s actually a kindness. If you really need a picture, make it and Instagram that bitch.

As great as it feels, it has not been a completely bump free. This last month, I’ve had a run of viruses that would not quit. A cold turned into strep throat, which turned into bronchitis, which faded back into a head cold. I’ve lost a month of training on my c25k. Worse, when I was at my sickest, meat and veggies weren’t possible. I got sick of broth. Pudding, jello and sorbet were my best friends. Then, I found that a bean burrito from Taco Bell was the ideal food for step throat. Filling and soft, it became the mainstay for 2 days.

Urgh.

My eating continued to suffer as I recuperated. I felt shitty. I deserved what sounded good, right?

And then, Halloween.

Fucking Halloween.

October was a cruel month, you guys. The good news is, I didn’t lose that much ground. 3 pounds, mostly because I’ve been too sick to work out. Oh, and eating carbs like a champ, but that’s over.

Really.

I swear.

My knees are wonky again, my energy level is in the toilet and I feel the need to nap almost every day. No bueno. If anything, I’m even more firmly convinced that my Paleo eating is absolutely right for me. So back I return, to my lean protein and delicious plant matter. Kale, I’ll never leave you again. Never shall we part, grass-fed beef. Honey, you’re the only sweet I need.

To further the mind-bending, I’ve wanted to workout. I’ve made time when there really wasn’t any. The walk to and from school with the kids isn’t enough. I’m craving that sore feeling, the ache in my abs that the fucking Pilates workout from HELL gives me, the burn in my thighs from the floor work, my stiff shoulder from the pushups. I’m reveling in the sweat pouring off me as I push an extra 5 minutes on the elliptical.

What the hell, people?

All this added protein and veggies is obviously messing with my head. I’m starting to suspect this Paleo plan is a covert plot to create a nation of super soldiers, slowly seducing us to the fit side. It’s been days since I joked about needing a donut. (Yes, that used to be a daily occurrence and no, it really wasn’t a joke.) The pile of discarded clothing gets larger every day. An opened bottle of wine has been sitting on my counter for 2 WEEKS!

Best yet, it doesn’t feel temporary. This is just what I do now. They have me in their sinister, lean muscled clutches. Shit.

I still have work to do. My fruit and nut intake is higher than it ought to be. We’re making plans to purchase a half a steer next April, so that we’re eating grass-fed beef. Finding pastured pork has been harder – I’m still looking for a local source. And paying $17/pound for sugar free, nitrate free bacon seems more and more logical. I dunno ; probably more of the protein-vitamin molecules blocking the neurons in my brain.

Aside from my elliptical workouts, I’ve started walking my son to school every morning. We live close enough to the kid’s school that I should have been doing this for the past four years, but I am lazy and we live on a hill, so…yeah.

When people find out I’m doing this, they are very enthusiastic.

“What a great way to get some extra exercise!”

“Jump start your metabolism in the morning! Way to go!”

“I bet you feel awesome.”

And I do. I smile and nod and let them believe it’s entirely fitness motivated.

Which is bullshit.

I walk my son to school so I don’t have to deal with the fuck-wits who drive their children to school. The middle school parents are the worst, but after the first week of watching idiots ignore traffic rules, the safety of others and plain old common sense, I’ve come to believe the seeds of middle-school-parent-fuckwittery are planted while their spawn are in the lower grades.

Christ on a cracker. Don’t stop in the drop off loop and walk your precious little drool bucket to the kindergarten door that is approximately 7 feet from your car. Park your Lexus and tend to your offspring without inconveniencing the rest of us.

Don’t follow the car in front of you out of driveway when someone has paused their progress to let that car out into traffic, especially if you are then blocking the road. Use your god damned company manners, ass hat.

And please, for the love of all that you find holy, don’t turn left when there are cones blocking the left side of the outlet and multiple signs saying NO LEFT TURN. Now we see why Junior isn’t reading at grade level.